Everything Changes, Yet Nothing Dies
by Alcyone Burnett
Summary: The end of the war breaks an ancient curse. They aren't as all-powerful as their myths make them out to be, but if they're not exactly gods anymore, they're also not just a bunch of magical teenagers. Now they just need to find out which one of them is trying to take over the world. Multi-pairing, 8th year, post-DH, EWE, Rated M for language, violence, and sexual situations.
1. Dreams and Other Distractions

_A/N: Some of the myths referenced in this story include sexual assault, abuse, and other atrocities. I'll provide specific warnings as needed at the beginning of each chapter. Additionally, the gods in these myths aren't known for monogamy. I'd really appreciate no one panicking if Hermione or Draco appear to stray or if the other characters refuse to pair off neatly._

 _Pay attention to the time stamps because the story jumps around a bit. Dream sequences especially aren't in chronological order._

 **Chapter 1: Dreams and Other Distractions**

 ** _11.30 am – 20 July 1998_**

 ** _Janus Thickey Ward, St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_**

The figure wore jeans that were slightly too long and a threadbare emerald green jumper with sleeves that were slightly too short. His narrow build, average height, and ill-fitting clothing should have made him unimposing, but to his dismay, he was recognised almost everywhere he went. Immediately after he entered the Janus Thickey Ward, a young, bright-eyed mediwitch squealed, "Harry Potter!" and rushed towards him, so eager to assist the young man that she barely avoided bowling over one of her patients and didn't avoid careening into a potions cart. Ampules shattered and phials upended. Harry winced.

A plump, elderly healer, whose lime-green robes shot through with gold and silver threads marked her as the ward administrator, pointed her wand at the spilled liquids and snapped, " _Tergeo_!" As the fluid siphoned off, she admonished the mediwitch for her carelessness and sent the young woman to restock the potions she had broken. The mediwitch huffed, scowled, and pouted at Harry before finally stomping off. The healer just shook her head and smiled at the—clearly mortified—saviour of the wizarding world currently stammering out apologies.

"Nonsense," she interrupted with a briskness that reminded him of Professor McGonagall. "How can I help you, Mr Potter?"

"I'm here to, uh, visit Remus Lupin. And Tonks. Nymphadora Lupin, I mean."

"Yes, of course. Andromeda told me you might drop by." She walked him to Room 412. At the door, she leaned closer and murmured, "Take as long as you need, dear. I'll make sure you have privacy." He nodded. She was about to return to her duties when she noticed that, although Harry had placed his hand on the door's handle, he had made no move to open it. Her eyes crinkled in concern.

"Mr Potter—

"Thank you for help," he interrupted, stopping whatever she'd been about to say. He managed a quick smile for her sake, but as soon as he'd opened the door enough to slip through, the smile dropped away.

The room contained two hospital beds, two small bedside cabinets, and two armchairs. There were flowers and photographs of their son on both tables but few personal effects. Remus, in the bed closest to the door, was sitting up with his hands loosely clasped in his lap. In the other bed, Tonks lay prone. Neither reacted to the door opening and closing, which didn't surprise Harry. He'd been told that Remus and Tonks didn't even react to Teddy when Andromeda brought the baby to visit.

Harry drew a shaky breath and sank into the armchair closest to Remus. He ran his hands through his hair and over his face.

"I'm sorry I haven't visited," he said when the silence became too heavy. "You look better than I thought you would." This was true. When he'd first met Remus Lupin, the man had looked shabby, haggard, and malnourished. It was jarring to see him looking younger and healthier now. In fact, neither Remus nor Tonks had any visible injuries. Dolohov's final curse had trapped them within their own minds somewhere, but they were alive and could be fed and taken on walks. Andromeda said they even moved on their own occasionally, although never with any discernible purpose.

Harry sighed. "I'm not good at talking to someone who isn't really there." He picked at a loose thread of his jumper. "Hermione says it's possible that you can hear people speaking to you, wherever you are, so I figured it was worth a shot. She's the cleverest witch of her age, right?" He fidgeted some more.

"I'm worried about her. Ron asked her if she wanted eggs or toast the other day, and she started hyperventilating." Harry smiled ironically. "McGonagall invited us all back to Hogwarts to finish our seventh year, and Hermione's not sure she wants to go. Hermione's not sure she wants to graduate. We used to think she'd be begging Dumbledore to stay on a few extra years."

In the other bed, Tonks rolled onto her side. Harry rose and walked around her bed until he could see her face. Unlike Remus, her eyes were closed. The metamorphmagus' hair was her natural light brown, and he guessed that all her facial features were also the ones she'd been born with.

"I'm sorry this happened, Tonks. It's not fair. You and Remus deserved to be happy." Harry turned away abruptly and gritted his teeth. _I could have waited until it wasn't so fresh_ , he thought. _It hasn't even been three months. Maybe Ron was right, and I'm just torturing myself._

 _I should go._

But…there had been a reason he wanted to talk to Remus. Harry took a deep breath and once again took the seat next to his old Defence Against the Dark Arts professor's bed. He didn't look at Remus as he began to talk.

"I should apologise, I think. I didn't come just to see you. I mean, yes, absolutely I did because if you were yourself again, you're who I would want to talk to about this, whatever this is. But you're not, and mostly I think I need to tell someone who won't think I've gone mad." Harry laughed bitterly. "And you know how everyone is always so _delighted_ to believe I'm a nutter. Shite, even Ron thinks this is me having trouble 'letting go' of the war. Everyone has nightmares now, he says. Doesn't mean anything."

"He's wrong though. I've always had nightmares, and this is different. It feels like when I was in Voldemort's mind, like I'm dreaming someone else's dreams. But I think he's worse than Voldemort, and it's every night, and I'm so tired." Harry looked up and felt a stab of disappointment when he saw that Remus' eyes had closed while he was speaking.

"I wish you could hear me. I'm scared that there's a new dark lord coming, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do about it. I don't know who to tell. And I don't know what the point of it all was if we're still not safe," he said bitterly. After a short pause, he continued, "Tell you what though, the bloody Ministry can find a new chosen one to handle it. I'm going back to Hogwarts, and I'm really hoping to avoid walking into certain death this year."

When Harry left Remus and Tonk's room, the ward administrator bustled over to him, wringing her hands.

"Mr Potter, I'm so sorry to ask, but I think you know the young lady in Room 414. Miss Weasley? Do you think you could convince her to take a walk or get something to eat? She's been in there all morning, and I'm sure it would do her good to get some fresh air."

"Ginny's in there? Whose room is it?"

"Alice and Frank Longbottom," she said soberly. Unsurprised, Harry nodded, assured her that he would speak to Ginny, and let himself into the room. In layout, it was identical to the Lupins' room next door, but the Longbottoms had lived there for years and keepsakes and mementos covered every available surface. His gaze lingered on the brightly coloured drawings signed by a very young Neville tacked to the wall over Alice's bed, stick figures labelled Mum, Dad, and Me.

A pale and sick-looking Ginny sat curled into one of the armchairs. Like him, she wore Muggle clothes. Harry crouched in front of her. Her eyes focused on him a little slowly, and the lack of any other response reminded him eerily of Remus and Tonks.

"Hey, Ginny," he said cautiously. "I didn't know you were going to be here today too."

"I come to see them," she said, tipping her head towards the corner of the room where Alice and Frank Longbottom sat on floor cushions, apparently unaware that they had company.

"Often?"

Ginny shrugged. When he was sure that she wasn't going to respond, Harry said, "The healer said you'd been in here a while. Have you eaten?"

"No. Haven't been hungry much, I guess."

"I was about to get lunch, if you'd like to join me," Harry offered.

Ginny hesitated. She didn't want to leave, but Harry might tell Ron that she wasn't taking care of herself if she refused to go. She didn't really fancy having her whole family showering her with concern and casseroles by sundown. With a sigh, she uncurled from the chair and stood. The movement surprised Harry, who had thought it would be harder to convince her, but he rose with her and followed when she walked towards Alice and Frank. Neville's mum had begun to hum and rock back and forth with her eyes screwed shut.

"Frank, Alice. I'm going to go now, but I'll come back tomorrow," Ginny said gently and bent down to hug the frail, white-haired woman around the shoulders. Alice didn't stop humming or move her arms to return the gesture. When Ginny straightened up to leave, however, Alice seized her wrist and tried to pull her back. Ginny gasped and nearly stumbled in surprise. Alice's other hand reached out to point at the many small, colourful squares of paper that dotted the floor near her. Her humming became louder and strangely emphatic. Harry looked confused and tried to lean in for a better look, but Ginny patted Alice's hand and pulled away.

"Come on, Harry. Let's go," she said.

In the hallway again, Harry began to ask her what that had all been about, but Ginny was already at the other end of the corridor, flinging open the double doors that led to the staircase. He followed behind but kept his distance—he'd known Ginny Weasley long enough to recognise that when she ran away from something, she either needed to cry or explode. If she was crying, she didn't want him around to see. If she was looking for someone to hex, he wasn't eager to volunteer.

So, it was fortunate that the many portraits of famous old healers lining the stairwell seized the opportunity of a captive audience to provide unasked for and invariably gruesome advice. After the third portrait told Ginny that she would be dead in a week if she didn't receive treatment for a rare and ghastly ailment, she shrieked, "Make one more comment about my health, and I'll incendio the whole damned hospital!" In the sudden silence, Harry's laughter echoed around them. Ginny stopped walking and waited for Harry to catch up with her. Her lips twitched.

"I wasn't joking," she told her ex-boyfriend sternly.

Harry grinned. "I know, Gin. Best thing about you, really, is that you mean it when you threaten to set the world on fire." His grin widened when Ginny finally laughed, the spark of humour returning a little colour to her face. She resumed her descent more slowly, and he noticed with relief that some of the tension left her shoulders.

On the ground floor landing, he took the lead, stopping in front of a large painting of a rotund healer with a feathered hat. The healer glared at Ginny but bowed to Harry, who murmured, " _Succorro aegros_." At his words, the portrait swung off the wall, revealing a passage that led out into a narrow alley behind the hospital.

He let out a sigh of relief. As grateful as he was for magical healing, he didn't think there was anywhere he loathed more than hospitals and infirmaries. Ginny seemed to feel the same, if the way she was gulping air was any sign.

"All right, Ginny?"

She shrugged. "I've been worse. How'd you know about that exit?"

"One of the healers slipped me a note," Harry said ruefully. "After I got mobbed by the people in the waiting room."

"Maybe they thought touching you would heal whatever they'd come in for."

"Not bloody likely. If anything, history suggests hanging around me might not be the healthiest pastime."

"Ah, there's that self-pity no one asked for," Ginny said, not unkindly. "But you never know, maybe you'll get lucky and contract spattergroit from one of them. That would help with the unwanted attention."

"As ever, your support is appreciated." They smiled at each other. "Do you mind if we apparate back to Grimmauld Place for lunch? I think Kreacher was making Cornish pasties."

"Grimmauld Place and pasties, yes, but you know I can't get my apparition license until August."

"I could side-along you," Harry offered.

"Ergh, no, I hate that. I'd rather walk. It's only about 25 minutes, right? Maybe I'll work up an appetite."

Harry agreed, and they set off towards High Holborn and Southampton Row. Ginny said thoughtfully, "I wonder if the Ministry will let me take the test. The Carrows' idea of apparition training was probably a bit unorthodox."

"I'm guessing I don't want to hear about it."

"Oh, I don't know," Ginny mused. "It involved large snakes, torture, and maniacal laughter, so you might have felt right at home."

"Bloody hell, Gin. I doubt I could focus on apparition during all that, even if I could still talk to snakes."

"Can you not do that anymore?"

"It was never really my ability. I think it got destroyed along with him."

"I'm glad," Ginny said. "Ever since Voldemort's snake attacked Dad, I've hated them."

"Nagini is the main reason I won't miss it," Harry agreed, remembering the horror of the snake exiting the body of Bathilda Bagshot.

They walked in silence along the wide, busy road for a few minutes. Suddenly, Ginny said, "Do you think Neville would want his parents to know?"

Harry blinked in surprise.

He knew that Ginny had started dating Neville while he, Ron, and Hermione were searching for horcruxes. He had been hurt and angry when he saw Ginny and Neville on the Marauder's Map, too close together to be misinterpreted. Months later, as he prepared to walk to his death in the Forbidden Forest, he had felt reluctantly grateful. He had hoped that she and Neville and Hermione and Ron would take care of each other. He had even realised, in a strange moment of clarity, that she and Neville might last, while Ron and Hermione would probably go back to being friends in a matter of months. Wrong on both counts, of course, because Hermione had broken up with Ron after three weeks and Neville was dead.

Harry had only heard Ginny speak about Neville once since the battle, when he, with the memory of Ginny's screams still ringing in his ears, had gone to the Burrow after avoiding her for months and confessed that Neville's death was his fault. He had asked Neville to kill Nagini, the final horcrux. And Neville had succeeded, only to be struck down by Bellatrix Lestrange moments later.

Ginny immediately hexed Harry. While he coped with giant bat-bogeys flapping out of his nose, she calmly explained that Neville had died neither for him nor because of him. _No one died for you that day,_ she said, _and Voldemort and his Death Eaters are to blame, not you. Neville was a hero, and Bellatrix was a monster, and neither of them needed an excuse to do what heroes and monsters do._ She cast the counter-hex and hugged Harry fiercely. _I hate that Fred and Neville are gone_ , she said _. That doesn't mean I wish you were dead in their places. I can be proud and angry and grateful and lonely and sad, Harry, all without blaming you for a moment._

 _Then why'd you hex me?!_

 _Because you're a stupid prat. Obviously._

That had been almost a month ago, and although he couldn't agree that he wasn't to blame for Neville's death, the conversation had re-established their friendship. They had spoken frequently since then, about Hogwarts, quidditch, Kingsley's reforms at the Ministry, and Rita Skeeter's upcoming Harry Potter tell-all. But she never mentioned Neville or visiting St Mungo's to see his parents.

"They might not be able to understand," Harry ventured.

"That's what the healers say, but they're wrong. His mum always recognised him. She's waiting for him to come see her."

"How do you…oh. Oh. She gave him candy wrappers," Harry said, remembering when they'd accidentally stumbled upon Neville and his grandmother at St Mungo's and finally understanding what Alice had been trying to communicate before they left the room.

"Yes. Drooble's Blowing Gum wrappers. She's saving them. She won't let anyone throw them out." Ginny's voice cracked, but she stepped away when Harry reached towards her. "I'm fine, Harry. I just wish there was a way to tell her what happened. What if she thinks he forgot about them?"

"Gin…maybe that's better. He wouldn't want them to be sad."

"But what if they forget him?" Ginny whispered. "Harry, I can't let everyone forget. I can't stand it. I have these dreams that I'm trapped underground with no light and everyone I love has forgotten me. And there are things moving all around, wailing and tearing at me…"

She had stopped walking, and Harry saw that she'd gone ashen.

"Ginny, it makes sense that you'd have nightmares about death," Harry said awkwardly, annoyed to find himself repeating the words Ron had said to him.

"No, Harry," Ginny snapped. "This is different. It's not me in the dream. It doesn't even feel like a dream." Harry's eyes widened, and she rushed on before he could speak, "Just listen. I think that somehow, Neville is reaching out to me. He needs my help. I swear, I'm not hysterical. This isn't grief. Something is happening to me."

"I believe you," Harry interjected, momentarily stunning her. His green eyes blazed, and he reached out to grasp her by the shoulders. "Ginny, this is really important. Have you had other dreams like that? Dreams that weren't dreams." She nodded slowly. "Tell me."

"I…I was in someone else's body. Younger than me, I think. She was taken," she said slowly. "From her home. She had a garden, and the fruit that grew there could banish death. It was beautiful, but it died, when he took me. Her." Harry stared at her for a moment before gently squeezing her shoulders.

"I'm really sorry about this, Gin."

Ginny opened her mouth to ask what he could possibly be sorry about now, but before she could say a word, his grip tightened, and the world went completely dark.

 ** _12.15 pm – 20 July 1998_**

 ** _12 Grimmauld Place_**

"Harry, is that you?"

Ron turned away from his room, Cornish pasty in hand, and continued down the corridor to stand in Hermione's doorway. She looked up from where she sat cross-legged on the floor with an open book on her lap and smiled at him.

"Hullo, Ron."

"Harry's not back yet," he told her. "His grand apology tour continues."

"Don't make fun of him," she sighed. "If it helps him—

"How could it though? I mean, he's been to every funeral, hugged every orphan—

"That's an exaggeration."

"Yeah, but just _barely_." She glared at him, and he shrugged. "I'm worried about him, Hermione. He punishes himself all day because he couldn't save everyone, and then at night, he dreams he's a bloodthirsty dark wizard dismembering his own father. Does that sound right to you?" Hermione jerked upright and stared at him.

"He dreams what?"

"It's just guilt, Hermione. You know how he is. He feels like he's responsible for everyone who died, so he dreams that he killed them."

Despite her alarm, Hermione smiled. "That's very insightful, Ron. It sounds like something I'd say."

"Well, I've been told I'm brilliant," he joked.

"Yes." Hermione stood, still holding the book she had been reading, and brushed the dust off her clothing. "But just in case, why don't we go sit in the kitchen and you can tell me exactly what Harry said about this dream."

"Uh, sure? He said he was going to tell you about it today anyway. Dunno why you want to talk in the kitchen though."

"Because you're getting crumbs _everywhere_ , Ronald, and the kitchen is where the plates live. Besides, I'm starved."


	2. The Sacred Histories

**Chapter 2: The Sacred Histories**

 _ **4.38 am – 5 May 1998  
Malfoy Manor**_

 _Draco knew he was dreaming because he was standing naked in the middle of what appeared to be a Greek temple populated solely by beautiful, adoring women. Other than the flames covering his body, which were a new and entirely unwelcome addition, the scene wasn't all that different from other dreams he'd had. But there was something different, something wrong._

 _He could feel himself trying to look around, to frown, to react, but he couldn't move. Instead, with each attempt, all he felt, all around him, was his skin pressing against something solid but invisible. It encased him completely. And it was on fire, which was horrifying, although strangely painless._

 _In a normal nightmare, this was the point at which he would have panicked, but the Occlumency shields he had been trained to raise automatically were already there, cutting him off from some of the horror. He didn't panic. Instead, he realized what was so very, very wrong about this situation._

 _Severus Snape had once told him_ , Occlumency doesn't work on a sleeping mind. Neither will Legilimency. Your mind is safest when you rest, Draco, and most vulnerable in the moments between waking and sleeping.

 _If Snape had been right, and even now Draco trusted him above all others, then Draco wasn't dreaming at all. Some aspect of this was really happening to him._

 _Distantly he became aware of his real body, the one safely ensconced in Malfoy Manor, beginning to scream._

* * *

 _ **12.22 pm – 20 July 1998  
12 Grimmauld Place**_

Ron was giving Hermione a somewhat muddled account of Harry's dream, when the front door opened and admitted Harry, Ginny, and a string of foul language. He grinned and tilted onto the back two legs of his chair so he could peer out the kitchen doorway to see Ginny haranguing his best friend.

"Hey, Ginny! What did Harry do?" he called, before allowing the front chair legs to crash back onto the tiled floor. Across from him, Hermione winced, but she smiled when Harry and Ginny entered the room, both looking irritated, although there was something faintly manic about Harry too.

"Look, you didn't even get sick. I don't see the problem," Harry argued as he took two chipped china plates from a cupboard and served himself and Ginny pasties from the platter on the sideboard. "Hey Hermione, Ron. I need to talk to you. Something's up."

"I told you I don't like side-along apparition," Ginny snarled. "You could have splinched me." Her anger with Harry didn't prevent her from taking the plate he handed her. She slid into a seat at the table next to Hermione.

"It sounds like you need to talk to Ginny," Hermione said, one eyebrow raised. Harry exhaled impatiently.

"Gin, I swear to you, this is important. Hermione, you'll agree with me in a minute. I've been having these weird nightmares, and I know you're going to say I should have told you before—

"Ron here has already told me a bit about one of them," Hermione interrupted.

"Great! That'll save time." Harry clapped Ron on the shoulder. "Ginny, tell them what you told me."

Ron's relief that Harry wasn't cheesed off at him for telling Hermione immediately switched to concern for his sister. "What does it have to do with Ginny?" he asked. "You're not dreaming about her, are you?"

Harry scowled at him, and Ginny rolled her eyes. Hermione just looked thoughtful.

"Go ahead Ginny," she said. "I'm listening."

* * *

Harry had to prompt her several times, but eventually Ginny had repeated everything she'd told him. Faced with her brother's pity-laced scepticism, her voice became less and less certain as she spoke. By the end of her description of the dream in the garden, she wasn't looking at any of them. Ron shook his head slowly.

"Ginny, I don't think…I mean, think about it. How could Neville reach out to you like that? Why would he ever end up somewhere so horrible? I understand why you'd want to believe…" He broke off, seeing his sister's tightly clenched fists. He looked at Hermione uncertainly, but she was still taking notes on the paper she'd summoned when Ginny first began speaking. His gaze shifted to Harry and hardened into a glare.

"When I said your dreams weren't anything besides really fucked up, I didn't mean you should try to prove me wrong. And I can't believe you would drag _Ginny_ into it," he snapped.

"That's not what happened. I haven't even told Ginny about the dreams I'm having." Ginny looked up at him quizzically, and he shrugged. "The, uh, details are different, but there's obviously similarities. We're both having awful dreams that don't feel like dreams, about people who aren't us. That's not nothing."

"Harry, I'll bet you ten galleons there isn't a member of the DA not having nightmares," Ron shouted. "But that's all they are. We fought in a war. It would be weirder if we slept soundly!"

Hermione finished writing and put her pen down with a quiet clink that nevertheless drew Ron's attention.

"There, Hermione will tell you what a wanker you are."

"I will not," Hermione said. "Although, really, Harry. You should have told me about this months ago. I assume both of you started having these dreams in early May?"

Ginny nodded. "I don't remember what day exactly. But yes, within days of the battle."

"My first one was that night," Harry offered. "I assumed it was just a reaction to everything that had happened. But then I kept having more dreams like it."

"And they've increased in regularity ever since, is that right?" Both Ginny and Harry nodded. Both looked at Hermione hopefully, wanting an explanation. Ron also watched her, but he looked troubled.

"So, it is something then?" he asked glumly.

"I think so. But Ginny, if I'm right, your dreams aren't about Neville. I'm sorry." Ginny swallowed past the lump in her throat.

"I want to believe he's…somewhere better," she said quietly. "But if the dreams are from him, then he's suffering." _And if they aren't_ , she added silently, _then I've lost him again. I don't even know which would be harder to bear._ She took a deep breath, blew it out. "I need to know for sure. You don't know everything, Hermione."

"Well, no. I can't be positive. But I've been having these…dreams or whatever they are, too," Hermione said. She flushed. "Only I don't think there's any way mine or Harry's are connected to anyone who died at the battle."

"Hang on, you didn't tell me you were having messed up dreams either," Harry protested.

"Frankly, I didn't have any reason to expect you to be helpful," she said, a bit waspishly. Ron and Harry both laughed. Even dealing with her own conflicted feelings, Ginny couldn't help but smile.

"Touché. What are yours about then?"

Hermione waved her hand as if it didn't matter very much. "I'm more interested in why this is happening to us."

"I think it's just you three," Ron muttered. "My dreams have been fine." Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

"So, you _haven't_ been having nightmares? Because you did say it would be strange to sleep soundly after a war."

"I've had plenty of nightmares." He shrugged. "But they're all about the war. _Because_ of the war."

"Let's just be sure—

"Hermione, let it go. I'm not part of this." The other three exchanged glances. After a collective shrug, Ginny turned to Hermione, and Ron relaxed.

"Never mind him. I'm sure you have a theory about what's going on," she said.

"Not exactly," Hermione admitted. "I do have, well, not a theory exactly—I don't know why we're having these dreams, but I _think_ I know who the dreams are about." She lifted the book that she had brought done from her room with her. It was bound in dark green leather and decorated with intricate gold leaf. "This is Euhemerus' _Hiera Anagraphê_. He wrote it in the early 3rd century BC. I wrote Professor McGonagall in early June asking if she had a copy I could borrow because Muggles only have fragments. After the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was established in 1692, wizards all over the world altered, stole, or destroyed every historical record of Muggles and magical people living together that they could get their hands on." She sniffed. "Completely barbaric."

"Hermione, what does this have to do—

"Hush, Harry. This is important. _Hiera Anagraphê_ means 'Sacred History,' which is ironic because Euhemerus was something of an atheist. Based on the fragments they have left, Muggles think he believed that all the mythological gods were essentially just powerful people whose lives were built up into legends over time. What they don't know is that Macedonia in the 3rd century was a mix of magical and non-magical people. The king, Cassander, was a wizard. Euhemerus was his friend and a Muggle. And Euhemerus saw up close what his friend could do, and he came to believe that the gods might have been very powerful wizards."

"Are you sure he wasn't just trying to make the king happy?" Ron asked cynically. Hermione flashed him a quick smile.

"That's one theory. And it's worth noting that most modern wizards and witches don't agree with Euhemerus." She held up one finger. "First, ancient magical people believed in the same gods as the non-magical people around them, and historians think they would have known if any of their myths were actually about real wizards. Like how we know Merlin wasn't a myth, and Muggles don't."

She added another finger. "Second, even the oldest extant versions of the mythologies describe beings with abilities that we don't have access to and magical power much greater than any known witch or wizard."

"And," she said, adding one last finger, "most importantly, Euhemerus was a Muggle, and no magical historian today would ever admit he might have been on to something."

"Hermione," Harry said. "Can you please get to the point?" Ron snorted.

"That is what I am trying to do." She took a deep, annoyed breath. "Fine. Back in May, I recognized one of my dreams as a specific myth that I had heard of, but the details didn't match any of the versions of the story I could find. And, once I started looking, I realized that there were close mythological analogues to the other dreams I was having too." She held up the green book again.

"I wanted to see _this_ book because Euhemerus tried to combine different versions of the myths and distil them into what he saw as the most likely origin stories. He collected stories from all around the Mediterranean. And the stories he wrote sound a lot like the dreams Harry, Ginny, and I have been having."

"But why would any of us be dreaming about myths?" Ginny asked doubtfully.

"I think we're actually each dreaming one of their dreams. One of the gods, I mean, or whatever they really were. I'm leaning towards a magical race that came before wizards, and maybe even created wizards by breeding with humans. As to why…" Hermione shrugged. "I've no idea. But based on the timing, it has something to do with what happened at Hogwarts when Harry defeated Voldemort. And if it's happening to us, odds are good it's happening to others too."

Harry frowned. "Which gods?" Hermione flipped through the book until she reached a black-and-white illustration of a man kneeling next to a river bank, surrounded by dismembered body parts. The image didn't move, but for a moment Harry thought the kneeling man looked over his shoulder at Harry with eyes full of fury and despair.

"Merlin," Harry breathed. "I dreamed this. Who is he?"

"Seth, the Egyptian god of chaos, storms, evil, and change. This depicts the murder and desecration of his father, Osiris. Seth tore him apart and scattered the pieces along the Nile."

"He was sad," Harry murmured.

"Mate, he chopped his dad up. Don't think he was that cut up over it," Ron said.

"There are varying accounts, but on the whole, he isn't portrayed as remorseful," Hermione agreed. Harry frowned but didn't interrupt. "He killed his father to usurp the throne. He and his younger brother Horus fought over Egypt for at least eighty years. In some versions of the story, Seth is destroyed or banished. In others, he and Horus divide power between themselves."

"So, this Euhemerus bloke, which version did he believe?" Ron asked.

"He thinks Seth was forced to leave and relocated to Greece, where he was associated with a massive serpent Typhon. Typhon eventually became known as Python, and he was defeated by Apollo. Naturally, Euhemerus thinks that Apollo and Horus are one and the same."

Harry nodded. "That all fits with the dreams. He was an Animagus."

Hermione shook her head. "These beings were able to turn into a variety of different animals. So far, I've turned into a lioness, a cow, and a raven in the dreams."

"Which goddess does all that?" Ron asked. Hermione chewed her lower lip briefly.

"Hathor, who was apparently the same person as…well, a few others. I think Euhemerus was on the right track, although he thought that the gods had all died by his time. I'm thinking a lot of them went north though," she said. "Ginny's dream about the garden with the apples, for example, is almost certainly about Iðunn, a Norse goddess. But she was Persephone before that, which is…well, it's probably the dream about being lost in the dark."

Ginny nodded. "I know that story. She became the queen of hell."

"Yes, but Euhemerus thought that the underworld was actually the kingdom of a tyrannical god who kidnapped Persephone. Euhemerus knew that wizards couldn't bring back the dead or travel across the veil, so any time something like that happened in the myths, he tried to find an alternative explanation. Mostly, I agree with him."

"Mostly?"

"Like I said, I don't think they died. I think they were immortal, or pretty close."

"Wouldn't they be, though? If they were gods."

"But they weren't, Harry. I've been over that," Hermione said.

"No, you haven't," Harry argued looking stubborn. "You gave three reasons why no one believes the gods were wizards theory. Aside from the Muggle thing, they sound like decent reasons."

"Harry's right," Ginny said. "I've never heard anything about ancient magical beings. There have always been wizard and witches, wherever there were people. There's no crazy super-wizard creation myth."

"And there wouldn't be," Hermione said triumphantly, "if they did to our history what we did to the Muggles." There was a brief silence.

"That seems a little far-fetched," Ginny said. Harry and Ron nodded in agreement.

"Well, you asked for my theory. If you don't like it, you can believe something different." Hermione smirked. "But I'm usually right."

Harry laughed. "If you're right about this one, I'll give you twenty galleons. Right now, though, we need to find out why it's happening and who else it's happening to."

* * *

 _ **1.22 am – 3 May 1998  
Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts Castle**_

 _Hermione woke into an unusually vivid dream, lying on a bed she had never seen or imagined. She stroked the blankets with some amazement. The mattress beneath her was made of tightly woven, undyed linen, but the blankets were gorgeously dyed in hues of green and draped over her and off the sides of the bed in luxurious folds. When she sat up, the blanket fell away revealing her naked breasts, fuller than they'd been before she fell asleep and almost bronze in colour. Her hair was different too, she noticed. The Hermione of the waking world had never been able to get her hair so sleek and straight._

 _She shifted her legs off the bed and stood on the smooth stone floor. Wide, sandstone columns supported the high ceiling, and beautiful frescoes lined the walls. The furniture in the room, including the bed she'd vacated, were inlaid with lapis lazuli and malachite. Everything around her glittered as if the sun was hitting it. She thought she smelled myrrh._

 _Without making a conscious decision to move, she found herself walking towards an open archway carved from an enormous lapis lazuli stone. Before she reached it, a man's shape filled the entrance. He was tall, muscular, and dark-skinned, with hair that was almost white. She gazed into his mismatched eyes and moved closer, feeling an odd jolt of hunger for this man she didn't recognize. He seemed to know who she was, and, putting his arms around her naked body, he pulled her into a kiss that made her heart race and her thighs clench. She was attempting to tear his clothing off when he lifted her up and tossed her back onto the beautifully carved bed. A laugh that wasn't hers rose from her chest. She spread her legs lazily and beckoned him forward._


	3. We Always Hurt

_A/N: Apologies for the long wait! I'll try to update a couple of times a month going forward. Thank you for reading, and extra thanks to Andeerivers23, Jenisha, darkoraclegirl (who wrote the prompt for this story), clarkfan325, and lilacaliens. I'm so glad you're all enjoying this!_

 _This chapter picks up where Deathly Hallows ends._

* * *

 **Chapter 3: We Always Hurt**

 _ **12.15 pm – 2 May 1998  
Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts Castle**_

After they left the headmaster's study, Hermione and Ron returned to the Great Hall, and Harry dragged himself up to Gryffindor Tower. As he climbed through the portrait hole and into the common room, the sensation of being home and safe swamped him, rolled through his body, and sapped whatever remaining battle-alertness that had kept him upright thus far. The four-poster bed no longer seemed necessary or even within reach, and he fell gracelessly into one of the maroon armchairs.

Hermione found him half an hour later with his feet kicked up on a low table, head thrown back, hair sticking up wildly, mouth slightly ajar. Her lips twitched into a smile. He had fallen asleep like this in the common room before, usually when he was meant to be writing an essay or revising for exams. Except for the ash and blood stains that he hadn't washed off yet, he looked more like the eleven-year-old boy he'd been than the battle-hardened hero he'd become.

 _Not that he had to change all that much to get here_ , she reflected ruefully. After all, that child had also walked alone into terrible danger, altogether too ready to die. He had said, "I was lucky once, wasn't I? I might get lucky again," which was not a _fucking_ plan, and the eleven-year-old version of her had wrapped her arms around him as if that could lock his life inside his body. She had called him a great wizard, and he was. A great wizard, a great man, and the greatest friend she would ever have. Yes. But not a lucky man. By Hermione's calculation, the sum of all the close calls and near misses in his life could not outweigh the catastrophic unfairness of never being loved correctly, properly, enough.

Oh, she knew Lily and James had loved their son. They had gone into hiding to protect him and had died trying to save him. They were celebrated for their bravery and their sacrifice. But Hermione thought love was more than just wanting your child to survive, particularly when the parents' actions were the reasons the child was in danger. They should have—and she knew her parents would have—done anything in their power to protect their child. James and Lily hadn't even left their home village. Knowing and understanding the threat, knowing there was a traitor in the Order, they put all their trust in the Fidelius Charm, which is only as powerful as the one who keeps its secrets. And that had been enough for them to feel safe. No extra layers of protection. No escape plans. Not even the simple precaution of keeping their damn wands on them at all times. Neither had known, in the moments before death, that Harry would survive. They had failed in every single way to protect Harry, who only survived because Voldemort's offer of mercy allowed Lily to sacrifice herself. That, Hermione had long thought, was not really something to be applauded. Then, on top of all that loving negligence, Sirius' love for Harry had not been enough to stop him running off in pursuit of vengeance. She wondered if it even occurred to him to stay with his newly-orphaned godson.

And then, of course, it would be almost ten years before anyone showed Harry love again. The Weasleys, Remus, and Hagrid all loved him. She and Ron loved Harry. But none of them had loved Harry enough to choose him over the war, to try to remove him from the war. They had all put their faith in Dumbledore, and Dumbledore had put his faith in a prophecy that required Harry to die. Dumbledore, who had also loved Harry. Harry was comforted knowing that Dumbledore guessed and hoped that Harry would survive. But supposing he had known Harry would die and stay dead, Hermione rather doubted Dumbledore would have acted differently. He'd never balked at sending children into mortal danger, after all. The ends, the means. The bastard.

Dumbledore had chosen the wizarding world over Harry, and it had been the right choice. Hermione knew that risking the safety of many to save one life was irrational, and she knew that Voldemort had to be fought. The war had to be won. Dumbledore had shaped Harry into the weapon he needed because that was the surest way to defeat Voldemort. The rational part of Hermione believed Dumbledore made the correct choice. But she believed just as fiercely that Harry had been failed by every one of the people who loved him. _How do you ever reconcile those beliefs?_

Realising that she had failed Harry as much as everyone else was a bitter pill to swallow. But the war was over, and his job was done. He'd sacrificed everything, and as she stood there looking at him sleep, she promised herself that for the rest of their lives, she would make sure that he didn't need to do it again. The wizarding world and the people in it could bloody well take care of themselves.

"You look so serious," Harry mumbled. Hermione jumped, and Harry's lips tilted up in a sleepy smile. She wondered how long he'd been aware of her presence.

"I'm surprised you can see me at all with your glasses hanging off one ear," she teased. "And I think your neck is going to hurt tomorrow." He snorted as he righted his glasses.

"What's one more ache? But I guess I can make it up the stairs now." Harry stood and stretched. "Is Ron gone?"

"Yes, they went back to the Burrow. We're both invited, of course, but…" She shrugged, and he nodded. Neither of them wanted to be at the Burrow right now. "Ron said he'd see us in a few days. He needs to be with his family. And McGonagall said we can stay here as long as we need to."

"That's good. But…if you're willing, I thought we could all move in to Grimmauld Place. Not today, but soon. If you want." He looked anxious, which surprised Hermione. It wasn't as though she had another home lined up. Her parents' house had been sold, and in truth, she hadn't spent much time planning for life after the war. She smiled wryly.

"That sounds wonderful. I'm planning on sleeping for the next two days, though, so if you want to move in before that, you'll have to carry me." Harry grinned and hugged her around the shoulders. Together they walked to the stairs that led to the dormitories.

"It'll be great. We'll get Sirius's awful mum off the wall and incendio all the obviously evil furniture."

"As long as we never spend another night in a tent," she joked. She kissed him on the cheek. "See you in 48 hours, Harry."

* * *

Hermione shifted restlessly for hours before finally drifting into an uneasy slumber. Harry fell back to sleep immediately. He slept deeply and dreamlessly for over twelve hours.

Then: _he was kneeling on a sandy bank before a wide stretch of the river with his head bowed. He had finished doing the most important thing. The most terrible thing. The air lay heavily against his bare skin, and he wanted nothing more than to go home. He had to get the blood off his skin before he went back though, because his brother and Hathor were waiting for him. He didn_ _'t want them to know what he had done, but he would tell them. Then there would be no turning back. There was already no turning back. But his brother would understand. Hathor would stand with him, as she had before. Maahes would go where Hathor went. No way to guess how the others would react. No way to know what would happen next. But no one could be allowed to find the body before he explained everything to the people who mattered. He rose and walked forward into the water. When he raised his hands, a spiral of water rose from the river and doused him, washing the blood off his naked body. Then he turned around to take care of the body…_

Harry woke, panting and covered in sweat, with his legs tangled in the sheets. In his mind he could still see what had startled him out of the dream: the body of a very large, dark-skinned man sliced across the neck, surrounded by an uneven ring of scarlet sand. The eyes were empty black sockets. Harry shuddered. Out of habit, he rubbed the scar on his forehead. The motion soothed him even though the scar wasn't burning in reaction to the dream. He supposed it wasn't likely to hurt ever again, not with Voldemort destroyed. He unwound himself from the bedding and felt around for first his glasses, then his wand. Then he paused, uncertain what to do next.

It was just a normal nightmare, although a weird one. But—what if it wasn't? It had seemed too detailed. He'd wanted to talk to people whose names he'd never heard before, whose faces he could still picture. In the dream, he had known them and loved them as much as he had hated the man he'd killed. _His father,_ he realised, although he didn't know where the knowledge came from. _He killed his father. Who is he?_

Harry had been someone else in dreams before. He had seen what Voldemort saw and who Voldemort killed. What if…but he couldn't even tell where it had been. Not Scotland, certainly. Anxiety curled in his chest. He could wake Hermione. But she'd looked so worried about him when he'd woken to find her watching him in the common room. He didn't want her to worry. Besides, most likely, she would tell him it was just a dream. He wasn't a horcrux anymore, and Voldemort was gone. He'd never shared dreams with anyone else, so why would he start now? Hell, maybe it was normal for people to have weird, vivid dreams after defeating deranged dark wizards. It seemed like the sort of thing that might happen.

Satisfied but not at all tired, he looked at the battered gold watch on the bedside table. Not even twenty-four hours since the war ended, and he was already having nightmares. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. Now what?

* * *

 _ **3.00 pm – 20 July 1998  
12 Grimmauld Place**_

Even Hermione didn't know how to find out why there were having the dreams, and short of sending owls to everyone they knew, there didn't seem to be a way to find out who else was affected.

"I like that," Ron snorted. "Hullo, Seamus, mate. Just wondering if you were planning to head back to Hogwarts this year. Still a bit undecided myself. Oh, almost forgot to ask if you've had any dreams about being an ancient god-like being? Do let me know. Cheers!"

"Luna might be," Ginny said.

"Yeah, 'course she is, Gin. This is her real seventh year, like you." Ginny rolled her eyes at her brother.

"I mean, she might be having the dreams too. She mentioned something a bit odd last time I saw her." Hermione's lips tightened into a straight line to stop herself from speaking, but she couldn't keep the skepticism off her face. Harry elbowed Ron, drawing his attention to Hermione. They dissolved into laughter.

"Oh, stop it!" Hermione said, although she was giggling too. "I'm sorry, Ginny. It's just that Luna's always a bit odd, isn't she? What did she say?"

"Something about being my friend in the darkness and carrying a silver wheel." Ginny shrugged. "I asked her what she meant, but she'd moved on. Wanted to know if she should owl _Malfoy_ , of all people."

"She's not going to thank him for the hospitality, I hope," Harry said grimly.

"Um. Well, yes. He wasn't unkind, apparently. Snuck them extra food, water, that sort of thing."

"I suppose he was also about to help them escape, only we beat him to it," Ron sneered. Ginny frowned.

"I don't think that's fair, Ron. He was risking a lot offering them anything. It's more than any of us expected of him, isn't it?"

"He didn't lift a finger to stop Hermione being tortured," Ron pointed out. When both Hermione and Harry opened their mouths to object, Ron waved his hands to stop them. "I know, I know, Bellatrix would have killed him. And what a major loss that would have been."

"If Malfoy had died, his mum wouldn't have lied to Voldemort at the battle for me," Harry said. "Which would have lost the war." Ron scowled.

"I'm surprised the lot of you haven't written him thank you letters."

Harry looked thoughtful. "Maybe we should." At Ron's look of dismay, he broke into a wide grin. "I'm joking, Ron. He may not be evil but he's still a great big prat. I think it's enough that we spoke up for him and his mum at their trials." Ron shrugged but didn't say anything. He had testified in defense of Narcissa Malfoy, but his refusal to testify on her son's behalf had been one of the reasons Hermione broke up with him. No point in stirring that up again.

Evidently Hermione agreed. "What did you say to Luna about sending the owl?" she asked Ginny, her voice tighter and higher than usual. Ginny looked between Hermione and her brother uncomfortably.

"I told her he'd publicly throw it back in her face first chance he got," she admitted. "But she probably did it anyway."

"He might not have the opportunity," Hermione mused. "I doubt he'd come back to Hogwarts, and it's not like the Lovegoods and the Malfoys attend the same parties."

"Do you think McGonagall would let him in?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"We did get him cleared of all charges," Hermione said. "I think it might look peculiar for her to refuse him entrance."

"Then why _wouldn't_ he go back?" Ginny wondered aloud. "You can't think he wants to hang around the manor with his mother on house arrest and his father in Azkaban and who knows how many little surprises hidden away by Voldemort's lackeys—

"They're Death Eaters, not cats," Ron said with a grin. "I doubt they left hairballs and dead birds lying about." Ginny shrugged.

"You know what I mean. I'd want to leave if I were him, and I doubt anywhere else would have him."

"I hope he doesn't," Hermione said frankly. "I've no idea what he thinks about being saved from prison by a muggleborn, and I'd just as soon not find out." Harry and Ron exchanged surprised glances.

"I thought you weren't sure about, ah, what you wanted to do in the fall," Harry said, not quite asking the question. The last time they'd discussed returning to Hogwarts, Hermione had hurled a book at Ron's head and told them to stop rushing her. Of course, the first time they'd talked about it, she'd gone almost catatonic, so Harry supposed she'd been making progress.

Hermione chewed on her lip. "I'm sorry for being difficult lately," she said slowly.

"You're not," Harry protested. Ron added, "You've just been kind of weird." Hermione laughed a little.

"Thanks, Ron." She twisted her fingers together. "I don't want to go back very much, really. But I don't think I can keep hiding away here, and I'm beginning to think we may all need to go back to Hogwarts. I know you weren't really planning to," she began, looking at Ron.

"I'll go if you go," he said immediately.

"And as established, I have to go," Ginny said wryly, ignoring the pang of loneliness she sometimes felt around the trio. "I'm guessing you think at Hogwarts it'll be easier to find out if other people are having the dreams too?"

Hermione nodded. "That's part of it, yes. But we also know it started soon after the battle. I think something must have happened at Hogwarts to trigger it. We'll need to find out what it was."

"You don't think it was defeating Voldemort?" Harry asked.

"Not everything is about you," Ginny teased, flicking Harry on the ear. Hermione smiled.

"I don't know, Harry. But I can't think why it would have been. It's more likely that some cursed object in the castle was triggered and it affected some of us somehow. It hasn't hurt anyone that we know of—

"Yet," Ron muttered.

— _yet_ ," Hermione continued, "but that doesn't mean it can't. Hogwarts is the best lead we have."

"Good," Ginny said with finality. "I was dreading going back." Ron looked suddenly stricken.

"I didn't know that, Gin. I didn't think." He squeezed her hand. "I would have gone with you, you know, if you asked."

Hermione hugged her and murmured, "We all would have. And we should have realized."

Ginny felt her heart squeeze painfully in a very different way than it had before. She still dreaded going back to Hogwarts where memories of Neville and Fred were so present and alive in her mind, she might expect to see either of them down every corridor and so experience those losses again and again. But she wouldn't be alone. Harry smiled sadly, but his eyes were understanding.

"It might not be as bad as you think," he said. "Terrible things happened there, but we all love Hogwarts. I don't want to lose that. I don't want any of us to lose that."

Ginny nodded, but her throat felt too tight to speak.

Hermione gave her another squeeze. "And just think, once we fix whatever is wrong with us—

"Except me," Ron put in.

—yes, fine, except for Ron," Hermione said, rolling her eyes, "then all we'll have to worry about are our N.E. . No more war, no more dark lords."

"This is a surprise, Hermione. I always thought you were more scared of test scores than Voldemort," Harry said. Hermione scowled at him.

Seeing the beginnings of a smile on Ginny's face, however, Ron added, "Wasn't that the entire reason she agreed to skip seventh year in the first place?" Harry nodded solemnly.

"All to avoid McGonagall handing her a failing grade. I can't blame her though. Remember that boggart? Truly awful." Ginny and Ron began laughing.

"I was thirteen!" Hermione wailed. "You're all awful, and I hate you. Ron is scared of spiders!"

"Yeah, but I was proved completely right," Ron said. He patted her shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Hermione. You can crib off my papers. It'll be fine."


	4. The Men Who Deserve It

_A/N: Thank you to sassyhaltertop, darkoraclegirl, Jenisha, lilacaliens, clarkfan325, and anonymous reviewers!_

 _T/W: Violence, mention of rape/incest_

* * *

 **Chapter 4: The Men Who Deserve It**

 _ **1.00 am – 21 July 1998  
Three Bedrooms in Great Britain**_

 _On the island of Kythira, the three sisters flew through a forest, above and between the twisting branches. The one called Tisiphone led the way, beautiful and snarling. Alecto was next and as angry as the first, although the lullaby she sang spoke of love. Megaera flitted behind and between her sisters and laughed a constant, breathless giggle that even Tisiphone found disturbing. She knew, of course, that both her sisters were quite, quite mad. It didn't concern her. After all, she thought as she prepared to land, I've found family in worse places._

 _Alecto ceased her song as she watched Tisiphone close in on their prey. She followed and was pleased to hear the man's great shuddering gasps as he fled, crashing through the forest towards the clearing. As he entered the small, bare circle of grass, Tisiphone dropped to the ground before him. With a breathless shriek, he fell backwards into Alecto's waiting arms. He screamed again and futilely tried to tear himself away._

 _Megaera landed next to Tisiphone, laughter still on her lips although it had turned mocking. He began to beg for his life, which made Tisiphone laugh as well. Alecto pressed one thin finger to his lips and whispered in his ear, "You'll want to keep very quiet, darling. It's time to tell you what you've done, and my sister hates to be interrupted." Her lips brushed his earlobe as she spoke. He whimpered._

" _Thyestes, grandson of Tantalus, son of Pelops, and scion of a cursed house, we greet you and pass judgement on your crimes," Tisiphone said coldly. "Murderer of Chrysippus, the half-brother your father loved most."_

" _Adulterer with the wife of Atreus, the brother whose throne you stole," Megaera continued._

" _And rapist of Pelopia, the daughter you should have treasured," Alecto snarled. She shoved the man to his knees. Thyestes gasped at the impact._

" _No," he cried, trying to crawl to Tisiphone. "Please, you don't understand! It was Atreus, all Atreus. You don't know what he did!"_

" _Don't we?" Tisiphone's lips twisted, and she knelt before him. Her golden-amber eyes glittered with a strange red light, like the orichalcum funeral masks he'd had made for his two sons, the boys Atreus murdered and served to him one night for dinner. His stomach rolled._

" _Please," he said once more. "He tricked me. He took everything." Tisiphone placed her hands against his face. Her touch was surprisingly gentle. Behind Tisiphone, Megaera clenched and unclenched her fists in anticipation._

" _Believe me, Thyestes," Tisiphone said. "My sisters and I understand revenge. But you have had your justice. Atreus is dead, killed by the son you forced on your daughter, just as you'd hoped. It's only fair that justice be served against you in turn. Don't you agree?" Thyestes croaked a wordless denial. He tried to shake his head, but Tisiphone's gentleness was gone, and he could not move._

" _Please," he whispered for the last time. Tisiphone's hands curled into claws and raked down his face, tearing deep scratches beneath his eyes. He yelled in pain and flinched away from her, collapsing onto his back on the dry grass._

 _Alecto, standing on Thyestes' left, said, "Pelopia's spirit called on us, Thyestes. We will not deny her whatever peace we can offer with your destruction."_

 _Megaera came up beside her and cheerfully added, "And we won't offer any peace at all to you." She lifted her hand to point at the crying man, and shallow wounds opened across his skin in a strange, feathery pattern. Each slice burned, as if Thyestes writhed on shards of hot glass. He arched his back off the ground in agony, shrieked, and kept shrieking._

* * *

Three thousand years away from the sins of the House of Atreus, three young women woke in their beds.

Hermione felt ill. The sick rage Tisiphone carried lingered for hours after dreams about the Furies. To distract herself, she tried to fit the dream into the chronology she was slowly forming. To her frustration, there were still gaping holes in the narrative—most notably, whatever had happened to turn Hathor, Egyptian goddess of joy and love, intoa Greek nightmare of violent death.

Luna was pleased to see her sisters at last. Previously, she had only dreamed of the period when she'd been known as Hekate and glimpses of her time as Branwen. It had been delightful to recognise Ginny and Draco as her old friends, but she admitted to herself that neither of them was likely to be helpful in waking hours. But _her sisters_ would listen. She was certain that they would see.

Pansy woke smiling. She sat up in the centre of her canopied bed and hugged her knees to her didn't know why these dreams came to her every night, but they tugged at a part of her soul that had been dormant all her life. Somehow, she knew that once it woke completely, everything would change. Her smile widened. It couldn't happen soon enough.

* * *

 _ **3.00 pm – 21 July 1998  
3 Eaton Square**_

Pansy Parkinson, through no real fault of her own, had never had close female friends. As a child, the only girls near her own age that her parents approved of were the Greengrass sisters, the Carrow twins, and the Patil twins. Twins unsettled Pansy, and Astoria was too young and fragile to be of interest. This left Daphne as the only option. Unfortunately, Daphne was a moron.

Hogwarts had not improved matters. Millicent and Tracey were half-bloods but not otherwise objectionable, except Millicent looked and dressed like a sack of potatoes and Tracey looked and sounded like she was about to burst into tears. And there was still Daphne, somehow a bigger idiot at eleven than she had been at seven.

That trend, Pansy noted as she skimmed Daphne's latest letter, had only worsened as they'd gotten older. Daphne, in her twittering, rambling way, spent two sheets of rose-scented pink parchment reporting every insipid detail of tea with Narcissa Malfoy. She complained that Draco hadn't graced them with his presence, even though he'd been at home. She whined that he wasn't answering her owls. She hinted at a possible engagement and asked if Pansy knew whether Draco intended to return to Hogwarts. Had she heard from him at all this summer?

Pansy let the letter flutter onto the surface of her writing desk and ran a finger over her bottom lip anxiously. It struck her as frankly irritating that so far this summer Draco had failed to reply to letters from herself, Theo, Blaise, and now Daphne. Admittedly, he'd never been an enthusiastic correspondent, but he'd always been cordial enough to respond, and only occasionally by requesting that the sender not write again.

Unpleasant, is what it was, and ungrateful too. She and Theo and Blaise had helped him and worried over him during the war. Now that the war was over, she'd hoped they could all relax back into their previous mode of affectionate disinterest and condescension. Instead, here they were, still playing the whatever-is-wrong-with-Draco game.

And even if you could forgive him for forcing his friends to express concern for him, it was terribly bad manners not to reply to a letter. After all, Pansy had always thought every idiot word Daphne breathed into the universe brought them all closer to extinction, but she still diligently replied to the silly missives. What possible excuse could Draco have?

"Topsey," she called. The house elf appeared with a crack near her elbow. "Dash off to Malfoy Manor, would you, and grab Draco for me. Then we'll want tea for four in my sitting room."

"Yes, Miss Pansy. Would Miss like me to fetch the other guests as well?"

"No, I'll manage that," Pansy said. "Just bring Draco here." When the house elf had disapparated, Pansy crouched in front of her fireplace, threw in a handful of floo powder, and called her destination. Then she thrust her head into the flames and shouted, "THEO!" Immediately, she heard a loud thud and Theodore Nott swearing at her.

"Oh good, you're there. I was worried I'd have to keep yelling." He dropped to his knees in front of his fireplace and glared at her.

"I'd say you're in luck," he said in his soft, clipped voice, "But you made me drop a rather rare first edition. Perhaps you could shriek in someone else's library?"

"I'm afraid I already have plans," Pansy replied sweetly. "Draco is coming by for tea in a moment." His mouth dropped open in surprise, but she kept going before he could speak. "I intend to find out what's wrong with him. You are, of course, invited. Bring Blaise through with you." She cut him off again by breaking the connection and dusted off her hands.

A moment later, Topsey reappeared in the room. She had latched herself like a baby spider monkey onto the leg of a very naked and pale Draco Malfoy, who was furiously trying to fling her off him.

"—go of me, you crazy elf!"

"Oh my," Pansy murmured, failing to conceal her laughter. "You could have allowed him time to dress, Topsey." The house elf released Draco. Still trying to shake her off, he overbalanced and fell to the floor in front of Pansy, who hadn't yet risen from her place next to the fireplace. He scowled at her and rubbed his hip where he'd hit the floor.

" _Ow_. Damn it, Pansy, what the fuck? If you want a shag, there are better methods than abducting someone who isn't fucking interested." Topsey smacked him in the back of the head, and he swore again.

"Miss Pansy does not bring you here for that," the elf said furiously. "Miss Pansy does not bring bad, foul-mouthed wizards into her bed."

"Oh, I don't know about that, Topsey," Pansy demurred. "But I certainly don't want Draco."

"Why did you bring me here naked then?" Draco yelled. Pansy sneered.

"How was I supposed to know that you lounge about in the nude like some sort of degenerate? Be reasonable." She nodded to the house elf. "Thank you for fetching him, although next time, perhaps assume I would prefer my guests wear robes to tea."

"Next time?" Draco sputtered. " _Fetching_?"

Ignoring him, Topsey said, "Yes, Miss. Topsey will see to the tea now." She grinned toothily and vanished. Draco stood and begrudgingly helped Pansy up, out of habit rather than courtesy.

"Pansy, I don't want to know about…whatever this is," he said. "I'm going home. Your damned elf didn't even give me time to grab my wand, so move out of the way of the floo." He expected her to argue. Instead, she barely seemed to have heard him. She was staring at him, open-mouthed. He grimaced. He knew he looked awful—dull skin, cracked lips, eyelids bruised purple with exhaustion—but he didn't want to hear what she thought of his appearance. His mother had already told him all about it. "Look," he started. She raised a hand, silencing him and leaned closer, still examining him intensely.

"Draco. What happened to your eye?"

Fuck. He'd forgotten about that. He clapped a hand over his right eye immediately and glared at her through the other.

"Potion side effect," he lied. She looked doubtful, but before she could respond, the floo flared green. Draco groaned. "Hell, what now?"

Theo came through first and stopped short. His jaw dropped. Blaise immediately walked out and into Theo's back. He reached a hand out to steady the taller man, but Theo hardly noticed. "For fucks sake, cover yourself up!" he demanded, averting his eyes from Draco.

Blaise waved to Draco and grinned at Pansy, not the slightest bit scandalised. "I wouldn't have guessed you'd be interested in a foursome, Pans," he chuckled, "but I'm happy to oblige."

Theo rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Blaise," he snapped. "Merlin. Pansy, get Draco something to wear. Draco, at least pretend to have a sense of decency."

"I was kidnapped," Draco pointed out, "Let's not pretend that _I'm_ the one violating social norms here." He was still not making any effort to cover his nudity, although his hand hadn't budged from in front of his eye. "I'm the victim here, if you can believe it."

Theo groaned and rubbed his temples. "The only thing I don't believe is that instead of covering your cock, you've opted to cover half your pasty face. Did Pansy hit you?"

Pansy, who had just handed Draco one of her own dressing gowns, ignored this and looked expectantly at Draco. But instead of dropping his hand and putting the green silk robe on properly, as she expected, he began an odd procedure that caused the rest of them to stare at him in some astonishment, putting the robe on without uncovering his eye by switching hands repeatedly. He messed briefly with the belt one-handed, before giving up and holding the robe closed in his left hand. He looked up to see Theo and Blaise exchanging concerned glances. Pansy looked irritated at being thwarted. Draco smiled innocently.

"Decent enough? And as a bonus, prettier than Pansy when she wears this thing."

"You've gone completely mad." Theo snapped. Draco looked offended. Before he could say anything that would cause Pansy or Theo to curse him, Blaise stepped forward with his hands raised.

"Do you know, I think our Theo is cranky because he hasn't eaten," he said brightly. "I believe we were promised tea?" It annoyed him to have to intervene. When Theo had told him about this tea to confront Draco, he'd really assumed that Theo would deliver the visible concern, while he and Pansy provided the snark. So far, things were not going to plan.

Theo growled audibly before stalking into the attached sitting room where Topsey had just finished setting out tea and sandwiches. He flung himself onto a chaise and scowled.

As the other three Slytherins entered the sitting room, Draco faux-whispered to Blaise, "I was annoyed just a minute ago, and now I'm almost enjoying myself. It's such a relief that Theo's here to be angry enough for the rest of us."

Blaise clapped Theo on the shoulder and sat down beside him. "He's a true friend." Theo huffed. "And speaking of friendship," Blaise continued as he helped himself to an egg and cress sandwich, "You suck at it." He pointed at Draco with the sandwich, then popped it into his mouth. Draco sat across from them and looked haughty, or as haughty as was possible while clamping a hand over his eye. Not very, that is.

"I realise that I have been noncommunicative," he said stiffly, "but it has been a very busy summer, and I certainly intended to write as soon as I had time to spare."

"Busy how?" Theo barked. "You haven't left the manor, you're taking meals in your rooms, you're not reading, much less accepting, invitations—

"You've talked to my mother?" Draco tried to raise an eyebrow, which was also difficult. He sighed. "I appreciate your zeal, but I truly am fine."

"Bollocks. You look like shite. Thanks, Pans," Theo said, accepting a cup of tea. He frowned at the brunette witch. "You're being surprisingly quiet. I thought you'd be telling him off."

Pansy smiled and passed another cup to Blaise. "Oh, I'm just considering the best approach. Tea, Draco?" Draco nodded. To his shock, instead of handing it to him, she upended the hot tea onto his lap. He yelled, jumped up out of his chair, and, to her delight, forgot himself enough to use both hands to pull the sodden fabric away from his crotch.

"Damn it, Pansy! I'm sorry about the letters, but that was uncalled for!"

"I really have to agree," Theo said, wincing in sympathy.

"To hell with the letters! Look at his eyes," Pansy snapped, pointing at Draco's face. Blaise had already noticed and was openly gaping. Any other day, Draco would have been pleased to shock Blaise, who typically responded to strange happenings by draping himself over whatever furniture was handy and looking unimpressed. Today, resigned to the inevitable, Draco gritted his teeth and let them look.

Draco's left eye was the same as it had always been, silver flecks over dark grey, but the iris of his right eye had somehow changed. It looked, Theo thought, like the eye of a falcon, burning with the same yellow-gold intensity. And he had seen these eyes before, this _exact set of eyes_ on the face of another man. His mouth opened and before he could stop himself from saying the impossible, he gasped out, "Horus?"

The effect of this name was rather less dramatic than he would have predicted.

"He was Apollo Belenus last time I saw him," Pansy said smugly.

"Oh, have we all been having those dreams?" Blaise yawned and leaned back in his seat, ankles neatly crossed in front of him. "He was calling himself Oethur in mine."

In fact, the only one among the company who reacted as expected was Draco, who looked at each of them in turn with wide eyes and said, very slowly, "What _the fuck_ are you talking about?"

* * *

 _A/N: In this story, Oethur refers to the Norse god Óðr, which was pronounced something like Oh-thur._


	5. Mistress of the Crossroads

_A/N: Two chapters in one weekend to make up for the month of silence! Thank you to lilacaliens, clarkfan325, and darkoraclegirl for reviewing the previous chapter._

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Mistress of the Crossroads**

 _ **8.45 am – 21 July 1998  
Malfoy Manor**_

Several hours before Pansy decided to kidnap Draco for tea, a barn owl arrived at Malfoy Manor carrying a canary-yellow envelope with Draco's name written in shimmering purple ink. Draco had been lying face down on his bed when the owl swooped in through the open window. Without looking, he waved at the low table where all the unopened letters he'd received that summer were piled.

"Just drop it there," he grunted. Instead, the bird glided to the bed, perched on the carved headboard, and screamed in short, explosive bursts until Draco surged out from his covers and attempted to wallop the creature with his pillow. The owl took to the air and settled on top of his bookshelf, feathers rustling crankily. It had left the envelope lying on his bed.

"I suppose you won't leave until I read the fucking thing." The bird's heart-shaped face gave every appearance of smugness. "No one likes barn owls you know," Draco snapped. "Take all the dignity from a decent owl and add a migraine, and that's what you get. Beastly." Still grumbling, he sat down on the bed and turned the envelope over in his hands. He didn't recognise the handwriting, which looped extravagantly, as if the writer lost control at the end of each stroke of her quill. He shrugged and tore it open.

The mad letter read:

 _Dear Draco,_

 _Dean and Mr Ollivander are both doing well, as am I. I am telling you this because I am sure you are too embarrassed to write them and make sure of it. Were you told that the three of us wrote to the Wizengamot on your behalf? I hope you were. I should hate to think you thought we'd abandoned you after your kindness to us! We were very glad when you were declared innocent, and I'm sorry that your mother is required to stay in the manor for so long. It's very dreary there, isn't it, what with the wrackspurts and all the murdering that went on. Cheering charms sometimes help to drive wrackspurts off, but I'm not sure how to cleanse a home of hatred. Maybe Hermione will know—she was always very clever about cleaning up messes, and I'm sure she'll be happy to hear from you. You should go see her. I'm sure she has missed you very much, and you know she always did better when you were with her. She is staying with Harry and Ron at 12 Grimmauld Place in London._

 _But I suppose you may not have realised who she is yet. That will be a nice realisation for you, so I won't say anything more about it. You'll know when you see her. In fact, I realised only last night when I dreamed of her and Megaera. You weren't around much during that time, but I recognised her at once. I only wish I had seen her sooner. By now, Hermione will have come to her own conclusions about the dreams, and that will make her harder to convince of the truth. I think she will listen to me, but if she doesn't, it really would be an immense help if you could go see her_ before _we go back to Hogwarts. You'll be the most obvious, after all, although Harry's eyes are a rare enough colour that she may have already figured it out. And as I said, she'll be glad to see you._

 _As for the others, I am certain of only Harry, Ginny, and your friend Pansy Parkinson. There should be at least ten of us left however, so I hope you'll keep an eye out. It's sad, isn't it? But we will have to make the best of it._

 _Yours,_

 _Luna Τριοδιτις_

He couldn't make sense of it. Even the straightforward parts about Thomas and Ollivander were baffling because there was no way, no way at all, that they had defended him. Lovegood probably had, but only because she'd lost the plot somewhere back in infancy and never seemed to catch on that he one of her captors.

As for the rest of the letter…well, Granger and Potter _had_ spoken at his trial, but that was just the sort of idiot hero-act they would put on, and he didn't think that amounted to an invitation to come calling at Grimmauld Place—and, for Merlin's sake, what was Lovegood thinking, giving Potter's address out to a known Death Eater—and he didn't know what to make of the stuff about Granger missing him and Potter and the Weasely girl. And what did Pansy have to do with any of it?

On the other hand, the bit about dreams, and the comment about eyes, and the ancient Greek that he could somehow read…Lovegood was crazier than a sack of kneazles, but she seemed to something about whatever was happening to him. Luna Trioditis. Luna of the Crossroads. He rubbed his hands across his face and glared at the owl. Seeing that he'd finished, the bird leapt off the bookshelf and flew out the window. Draco collapsed back into his pillow.

Ever since his eye had changed colour in early June, the dreams that weren't dreams had become a nightly occurrence. The Occlumency shields kept him from being pulled completely into the dreams but keeping them up sapped his energy. Such weird dreams. _There was a man with bright green eyes in one of them, wasn't there? Could have been Potter's eyes, I guess. But what's he doing in my dreams?_

He rolled onto his stomach and pressed his face against his pillow, remembering a woman with laughing eyes like glittering chestnuts. _No, that's not right. Chestnuts don't glitter. Never mind. Eyes. Such strange eyes._

His mother had been unconcerned when she explained that he'd been born with mismatched eyes, but Lucius had insisted they put a glamour on him as a baby. Malfoy's didn't have gold eyes, and the Black family must have polluted the line, and so on. The glamour, when she tried to reapply it for him, wouldn't stick. How odd, she'd said, as if it didn't matter very much now that her husband was in Azkaban for life.

But it did matter, Draco knew. He didn't care that his eyes were no longer just like his father's—if anything that was a blessing—but unlike his mother, Draco knew that his mismatched eyes were more than a biological oddity because twice now he had seen the face of the man whose body he inhabited in the dreams. Once it had been a reflection in water, and that could have been a trick of the light, but the second time it had been a highly polished copper mirror and he'd been sure. The same eyes. Really very strange eyes. Something was happening to him, something that involved weird eyes and nonsense dreams and ancient Greek, and somehow, Loony Lovegood of the Crossroads knew all about it.

If he wasn't so exhausted, he thought he might be able to put it all together into something resembling an explanation. As it was, he barely had the energy to get out of bed.

* * *

 _ **3.45 pm – 21 July 1998  
3 Eaton Square**_

It was a relief to learn that if he'd gone mad, so had his three closest friends. Even better, they didn't seem to care anymore that he'd been a recluse all summer, and they didn't seem to require him to do anything about whatever was happening.

Theo had nipped off to the manor to retrieve Lovegood's letter. None of them had understood much more of it than Draco had, although Blaise was delighted to learn that they could all read ancient Greek now. Pansy told them about hunting down murderers and perverts as Megaera, the woman Lovegood had mentioned in the letter. That had been unpleasant and confusing to listen to, but at least Draco hadn't had to do anything but sit on Pansy's furniture and try to stay awake.

"Do you suppose it's a possession of some sort? Ancient spirits released into us?" Theo frowned thoughtfully. "Of course, you'd usually expect a more hostile presentation, but that's not always the case. A couple centuries ago, Cato Edmund Rosier absorbed the soul of an 8th century Benedictine monk from a cursed artefact, and I think they shared a body amicably for something like 45 years before he died."

"But we're sharing _their_ bodies and only when we're asleep," Pansy pointed out. "And I don't think any of us have been able to exert any control over anything, right? It's the memories of people who lived thousands of years ago, not their souls."

"That's true. It's almost like watching a pensieve memory, except you don't see those from within the person's body."

"When did you get to use a pensieve?" Blaise asked. Theo's mouth tightened, and Pansy glared at him.

"After my mum died," Theo explained, although Blaise had guessed from their reactions. He nodded in silent apology. Theo sighed.

"I think you should reply to Lovegood, Draco. Obviously going to Granger is a nonstarter. She'd slam the door in your face. Draco? Mate?"

Draco jerked from a light slumber. "What? Sorry. Did you say something?"

"What is wrong with you?" Theo asked in exasperation. "This could be the most fascinating magical phenomenon ever, and you're barely paying attention."

" _I told you,_ I haven't slept in weeks. I've been occluding every night. I didn't know what the dreams were, and they could have been dangerous."

"We're all fine," Pansy said dismissively.

"You idiots could all be on the brink of death."

"Of the four of us, you're the only one who looks like an inferius." Draco scowled at her.

"And Lovegood doesn't seem concerned," Theo interjected.

Draco dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "She's a nutter."

"She's also the only person who has an idea of what's going on. Except maybe Granger, apparently." Theo smiled wryly. "But I don't think any of the Gryffindors, least of all her, will want to help us figure this out."

"Too bad Lovegood made it sound like we might need them for that," Draco said. _As if I didn't already regret mistreating the bushy-haired swot for six years_ , he added silently.

"True. Ten of us left, and we'll have to make the best of it," Theo mused. "Left from what, I wonder?"

Pansy shrugged. "No idea. But if she's right about Granger, Potter, and girl Weasely, that still only makes eight."

Blaise snorted. "What are the odds that we'll be spared dealing with the Weasel?"

"If there was a god of incompetence, I'm thinking no odds at all."

Theo ignored them. "Lovegood might be a suitable peace broker between us and the mud—er, Granger." He flushed at his near-slip.

"She might, if we don't say things like that," Blaise agreed.

"And we have a month and a half to break bad habits." Pansy looked meaningfully at Draco, who shrugged.

"I intended to return to Hogwarts in any case," He said. "And there was little chance that _she_ would stay away or fail to drag Scarhead and the Weasel along. I hadn't planned on restarting rivalries."

Pansy raised her eyebrows. "If that's true, you may want to select more complimentary nicknames." _And I may need to apologise for trying to hand the Chosen One over to the Dark Lord. What a nightmare._

Blaise laughed. "Potter will have had a whole summer of people falling over themselves to touch the edge of his robes. He'll probably be relieved to be called Scarhead again."

"That's…probably a little true." Theo sighed. Slytherin House had often capitalised on Potter's loathing of his own celebrity. "But antagonising the others won't help. We need to find out what's happening to us. In the meantime, I don't think we should let anyone who isn't already involved know." The others rolled their eyes.

"Theo, my dear, you can't _really_ believe that anyone would care that ancient beings with violent and mysterious powers somehow formed a connection with us right about when a psychopathic dark wizard with violent and mysterious powers was destroyed," Draco drawled. "It's not as though any of us are _widely known_ to have sworn loyalty to that dark wizard or to have parents who did."

Theo ignored him. "I think we can count on the Gryffindors keeping it quiet too, at least as long as no one is being harmed by it. They'll want to avoid stirring up panic so soon after the war."

"Do we really think it has something to do with the Dark Lord?" Pansy asked hesitantly. Theo shrugged.

"I doubt he caused it intentionally," Draco said slowly, "Because giving a handful of teenagers baffling dreams isn't the sort of thing he went in for. But he was interested in dark artefacts and none too stable besides. Something he did _could_ have caused this."

"Write Lovegood," Theo suggested. "She might know."

"Mm. I suppose. Pansy, do you have any parchment handy? Thanks." He took the parchment and quill she brought him from her bedroom. Before he began writing, he sighed, "Why did it have to be the dotty Ravenclaw? I would have preferred the pretty seeker."

* * *

 _ **4.28 pm – 21 July 1998  
12 Grimmauld Place**_

"It's not that I don't believe you, Luna," Hermione insisted. They were sitting facing each other on her bed. The door was locked, and she had cast a Muffliato very shortly after Luna began her incredible explanation. "I—I'm sorry. I'm trying to believe you, but I just…there's no proof. Maybe Seth had eyes like Harry's but so did Harry's _mother_ , and Harry would never kill anyone in cold blood. I would never kill anyone in cold blood! And neither would you, for that matter. So, they _can't_ be us, even if it were possible for us to somehow be four thousand years old." Hermione was shocked to see that the younger woman was almost in tears.

"You're older than that," Luna said softly. "And I think you know that any one of us would do almost anything in the right circumstances."

"Not that." Hermione reached out to grip Luna's hands. "I won't believe that I could become the thing Hathor became. That could never be me."

"When I first met you, you were calling yourself Tisiphone. We were sisters, Hermione, and we did what we had to."

Hermione shook her head. "No. They were monsters. They enjoyed killing those men."

"Well, _they_ deserved it," Luna hissed. She did suddenly sound very much like Alecto. Hermione shivered.

"Luna, please listen to me. You're one of my closest friends, and I love you, but these memories, they aren't ours. We never did those things."

"No! Stop it." She was crying in earnest now, and she pushed Hermione's hands away. "You hated yourself then too. Of course, you would choose to stay Hermione, even if it meant rejecting me." She slapped herself in the chest, making Hermione wince. "But you would do anything for the people you love, and _that has always been true_. As Inanna, as Hathor, as Tisiphone, and Enyo and Belisama and on and on, Hermione. You're the witch who obliviated her own parents to save them and fought, and suffered, and _killed_ for Harry because you love him. You have always been that person."

"It's different. We were at war," Hermione said through numb lips.

"We were back then too." Luna brushed the tears away impatiently and hooked her long dirty-blonde hair behind her ears. "I did this all wrong. But you put together almost all of it. Can't you see that we are all who we were then? Even Harry, even Draco."

"Harry Potter, god of chaos and Draco Malfoy, god of the sun?" Hermione looked frustrated. "Luna, that's the hardest part to believe, not least because I _loathe_ Malfoy, and I know Hathor loved Horus."

"Well, I'm sure he'll be very apologetic when you see him again," Luna said wryly. "You're right that it's going to be an awful blow to Harry when he learns how history has misrepresented some of his choices. Not that they were good choices," she admitted, "but I think you'll agree that he would have made plenty of bad choices in the last seven years without you."

"I think he made a few regardless," Hermione said, relieved that Luna had calmed down. _What,_ she thought, _am I supposed to say to Harry and Ron about this? They'll send her to St Mungo's, probably rightly._ She already knew, though, that she would not say a word to Harry if she didn't have to. He was already troubled by his dreams of Seth. She couldn't introduce the idea that Luna suggested. Harry might believe it.

As if she could read Hermione's mind, Luna said, "Harry, like you, usually chooses to believe the worst about himself. You've both always needed your friends to shield you from that impulse, and we always have. You don't need to be afraid of yourself, Hermione."

Hermione was still trying to form a response to that baffling statement when a huge eagle-owl appeared outside the window. She recognised it immediately as Draco Malfoy's owl, an impressive, beautiful bird with long, feathered ear tufts. Luna ran to the window and threw up the sash to allow the owl in. _It'll be Malfoy telling her off for writing him,_ Hermione told herself as Luna accepted the neatly rolled parchment. _He won't have a clue what she was on about either because this is all nonsense, like the blubbering hubcaps, or whatever imaginary creature she's always looking for, and as soon as she reads his letter, I'll find a way to explain that to her. And we'll find a better explanation, and then we'll fix it. Everything will be fine._

"Hermione?" Luna was holding the letter out for her. She looked relieved. Hermione felt her stomach plummet, but she reached out to take the parchment — _why was her hand shaking so badly?_ — and read:

 _Lovegood,_

 _Add Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini to your list. What is happening to us?_

 _The four of us are at the Parkinson townhouse in London. 3 Eaton Square. Floo's open._

 _Malfoy_


End file.
